we're not broken, just bent
by AnthroQueen
Summary: I let you see the parts of me that weren't all that pretty, and with every touch, you fixed them.


**Good evening, friends! Boy oh boy do I have a long author's note coming your way, lol. First things first, hi, I love you all and I miss you. I hope you're all doing well and that you had a nice holiday and everything's going well. Now let's get down to business. 6B is here, the dreaded half season from the black lagoon, and I personally do not know if I will be watching. I still haven't decided. It's only been one episode, but still. I watched the Spoby scene (be still, my heart, they still get me) and I watched the one with Toby and Emily and that's it. That might stay it forever. Who knows? Regardless, I had a dream about a week ago about Spoby and it was super vivid and super strange and, well, here it is in fic form. :P**

 **That being said, I wrote this with every intention of it being my swan song. I was ready to say goodbye not only to this fandom, but also to writing for this fandom. And then halfway through, I changed my mind. Because fuck canon, that's why. Writing fan fiction is the whole reason I'm still in this fandom, because let's be real, if it can't happen on my screen, then it's sure as hell going to happen on my computer. If I have to aggressively ignore canon to have the characters end up the way I want them to- and, arguably, the way they should- then so be it. I will do it even if no one reads. Marlene and her writers may be sub-par, but I can also fix what they've been breaking repeatedly.**

 **And now it's time for a mini announcement- waaaaay back when, when I was writing my first ever PLL story, "I'll set the table," I had a bunch of you precious blueberries ask me to write a sequel, but I honestly felt like I was done telling that story. It was nice to write them again in "Love Is" and for that brief chapter in "The Wisdom to Know the Difference," and that will always be the family I picture Spoby with in the future, but I was planning on leaving it as is. However, my muse felt differently. And instead of letting it go, I wrote like ten or eleven chapter-length stories with that little family just for the hell of it. And it was fun as hell. And it's weirdly therapeutic, honestly, to be in control of what does and doesn't happen to them later on in life. I'm rambling. Basically, I just wanted you to know that this isn't my swan song and that there is a bunch of random little family one-shots in my folder if you were even a little interested in reading them. You probably aren't and it's fine. I haven't looked at them since I wrote them; they're probably shitty. But if you are, that might be cool. Let me know. I'm around.**

 **Okay hey, cool, you're still with me. I bet 0% of you read this author's note and that's okay! You know I'm a rambling mess of sap most of the time anyway. I guess this is the part where I tell you how grateful I am to have all of you and how the title/description is from P!nk's "Just Give Me a Reason" (like you didn't already know that, amirite?). Thank you for choosing Star Tours and enjoy your flight! Wait, no, I'm not at work. Thank you for reading, seriously, and I love you all. Stay safe out there, fandom. And remember- friends don't let friends ship Spaleb. Kisses. :)**

* * *

we're not broken, just bent

Bits and pieces of all his visits to Georgetown stick out to her from time to time, but it's the last one that will always remain clear as day.

Something's not right; _they're_ not right and they've never been anything but perfect for one another, so this feels foreign to her, like a song she once knew all the words to or a language she could once speak fluently, only to find the words have changed and they're speaking in tongues. She doesn't know who she is; she knows who she once was and who she once wanted to be, but all the years of torture and torment have blown that person straight out of the water and have left her stranded, unidentified, in the middle of the sea. Breathing feels like knives to her chest and for once, being with Toby doesn't give her the solace and comfort it always has. It brings her anxiety. And she can't bring it up because she loves him desperately and she will hold onto him forever as long as he lets her.

He can't look at her, but he confronts the elephant in the room. "What are we doing, Spencer?"

And it's like all the air's been sucked out of the room. Because it's not like she isn't happy with him; she is. She can't imagine being happy with anyone else. It's not that she's not happy with _him_. It's that she's not happy _at all_. "We're just doing our best."

Toby sighs and scrubs an exhausted hand over his face. "What if that's not good enough anymore?"

She glances at him, searches his face, and wonders how long it's been since she's actually _seen_ him, because she doesn't remember the exhaustion, the frustration, or the pure disappointment she sees now, so clearly evident in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen you since spring break _last_ year," Toby frowns. "FaceTime doesn't count."

Spencer thinks all the weeks have gone by in a blur, but she knows it's nearing October. "Yeah, but-"

"And I know I've been busy with work and you have too," Toby says. "You've got school and everything but… If we're going to make this work-"

"If?" Spencer cuts him off. "Do you not want it to work?"

"Do _you_?" Toby counters. "Because you're sending me mixed signals. And I don't know how to read you anymore."

Spencer frowns and feels a lump arise in her throat. "I love you."

Toby's face reads heartbreak and it's something that she knows will come back to haunt her for years and years to come. "I love you, too. Of course I do. You know I do. And I want nothing more than for you to be happy. But I just… I can't. I don't know how to make you happy."

"I'm happy with you," Spencer insists and only when Toby shakes his head does she realize that it may not be a lie, but it's not entirely the truth, either.

"You aren't, though," Toby tells her. "I thought maybe you might be, now that –A's gone and you're out of Rosewood, but… You're not. And I can't figure out why. I thought maybe… Maybe I reminded you too much of everything that happened back home."

"It's not- It's not you," Spencer struggles and she can physically feel her heart begin to break. "I just… Everything is so hard and I'm already a year and a half in and I don't have control over anything. And now the worst thing has happened- our relationship, the most important thing in the _world_ to me, is falling apart."

"You and our relationship are the most important things to me, too," Toby tells her. "But it doesn't feel like ours anymore. It doesn't feel like…"

"Like us?"

"Like us," Toby agrees. "We used to be a priority and now-"

"Now I have _so_ many priorities that how can we possibly be one?" Spencer runs a hand through her hair, tearing at her curls. "I hate this."

"I hate this, too."

She heaves a sigh. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Toby. And… And honestly I need to remember before I do anything else."

Toby stares at her a long time before saying, "Well maybe you need some time on your own to figure that out."

And this is what breaks her; it feels like thousands of jagged shards of glass and she can taste blood and bile when she says, "Are you… Are you breaking up with me?"

He says nothing and this is somehow worse. Tears spill down her cheeks and she's shaking her head so fast, it's near giving her whiplash. "Toby… No, I... Are we breaking up? Are we really breaking up right now?"

Finally, his voice comes to her and for the first time, she doesn't recognize it. "I think we're breaking up."

" _No_ ," The voice that comes out of her is not her own; low and raw and animalistic. She feels like screaming. She feels like vomiting. She does neither. "I don't… I don't want that. Do _you_ want that?"

"Of _course_ not," Toby tells her and she doesn't know if she believes him. "Spence, that's the last thing I want. But… It's probably for the best."

And in her heart, she knows he's probably right. But it absolutely breaks her and her chest heaves out a sob before she can stop it. She's shaking her head and her nose is running and tears are everywhere and before long, Toby's eyes fill with tears, too. He reaches for her and doesn't take no for an answer. "Come here. Come here."

"You can't do this," She hears herself cry and contradicts herself the minute she clutches him even closer. "If you're breaking up with me, you… You have to yell and storm out and hate me."

"I could never hate you," He says, his voice low and shaky. "Nothing you could ever do-"

"You can't do this," She repeats and pushes away from him and it's their last embrace, but she doesn't realize this then. "You can't look at me like that. Not if we're broken up."

"Look at you like what?"

"Like _that_ ," Spencer wipes at her eyes but it's no use. The tears are coming and they aren't stopping now. "Like you'd move mountains for me or that… That you're still…"

"Still what? In love with you?" Toby finishes and it's the first time this confession has ever caused her physical pain. "Because I am. And I would. And us not being together isn't going to change that."

She sniffles and it feels like the end. "So what do we do now?"

"You're going to continue going to class," Toby tells her. "And I'll go to work. And you'll figure out who you are and I'll… I won't stand in the way of you finding yourself."

"And then?"

"And…" He trails off, like he can't quite figure out the way to phrase what he's feeling. "And I'll always be there whenever you figure it out."

From there, it's only fragments. Toby shrugging into his coat. Her watch beeping with the new hour; an hour in which their relationship ceases to exist. A jilted kiss to her forehead that feels cold and unfamiliar. Sniffles and tears on both ends and a door closing in between them.

And then it's over.

Later, when she just can't take the pain, she reaches for her phone to text the one person she's always shared her pain with…

… Only to realize he's the cause of it, this time.

* * *

They end it and it's messy.

The look of torture and despair in Spencer's eyes almost does him in but he knows it's for the best. That thought doesn't do anything to dull the pain. Somehow, he makes it through the days but the nights are incredibly lonely and he wakes with a wet pillow and a sticky, tear-stained face. He doesn't discard the photos of the two of them and the pocket watch and Scrabble board stay in their rightful places until it just hurts too damn much to look at them. And days turn into weeks turn into months and no one really talks to him, anymore. Caleb reaches out every now and then, but he's got a busy life in New York that far surpasses Rosewood and Hanna only texts with questions about her ex now that they've broken up, too. Some things stay the same; Aria never contacts him but she never has before and Emily calls once a week to make sure he's still okay.

They never talk about her.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts until it stops hurting. Or maybe he gets used to the pain, or maybe he learns to ignore it, or maybe he's numb. He's sure he'll never be able to erase the image of Spencer's heartbroken visage out of his mind, nor the sound of her gut-wrenching sobs, nor the smell of her hair or the feeling of her body against his. The first November 6th without her kills him and he stares at her contact information in his phone and wills himself to call, wills himself to text and ask if she's okay, wills himself to _do something_ … but he doesn't. He lies awake all night and wonders where she is at the very moment, wonders what she's doing right now, wonders if she's handling this any better than he is, and then realizes he doesn't want to know. It would kill him to know she's falling apart, but it would kill him even faster to know she isn't.

Soon, it's been a year and then two and he finds himself lost and hoping that wherever she is, she's found out who she wants to be.

If one of them benefits from this breakup, Toby hopes it's her.

* * *

Three years in and there are still days she can't get out of bed.

She'll lie there and ignore all responsibilities, forget to eat, stare emptily out the window at the falling rain, the sunny skies, the swirling leaves, as life goes on without her. And her roommates think she's crazy and she probably is; if it weren't for her addiction tendencies she'd be a shoe in for anxiety medication and anxiety and depression and addiction are all reasons she's almost glad she and Toby had split, because wherever he is now, she knows he's better off without her. She hates herself for being such a burden for so long, hates herself for needing him so much, hates herself for putting such a pure, wonderful soul through hell and back, but she doesn't hate herself for loving him, and for _still_ loving him, because that is the best thing she's ever done. And that love, the mind blowing, infuriating, fascinating love, is now the thing that is tearing her apart.

She dreams. And they're almost all nightmares.

There's blood and screaming and blaring sirens. There's white walls bleeding with –A texts and human bones and flesh and dolls with broken faces, porcelain eyes watching her every move. But then there's a tan Chevy truck and a motel with a squeaky bed and low, mournful flute music and a prom they weren't invited to. There's a crackling fire with intertwined hands and two broken bones and tangled, sweaty limbs beneath sheets. And both of these types of nightmares are so completely different from one another, but they kill her in that same way. She wakes up gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face, her chest tight, and each time she expects it will get better. It doesn't. It gets worse instead. And it's been years and she doesn't remember what his voice sounds like, doesn't remember his facial expressions or how delightful he smells, and this, right here, is what she's sure it feels like to be haunted.

And so it is, three years later, that she finally sends the first text- _Hey._

It's simple and it's stupid and she agonizes for nearly an hour, until the horizon turns pink and birds begin to chirp in trees, but he texts back- _Hi. You okay?_

And no, of fucking course she's not fucking okay. She hasn't been okay in three years. And maybe this started because they got sucked into different lives and ran out of room for each other, and maybe it ended because she didn't know who she was if he wasn't there at all times, but she sure as hell isn't herself anymore. This weeping, moping mess of a girl is hardly the same person as the spunky, sassy, sarcastic Spencer Hastings everyone back home knew and had to put up with. And she doesn't know how to respond; there's so much she wants to say. _I'm not okay. I'm miserable. I miss you so much. I love you. Please come back to me. I swear I'll love you right this time. I promise not to fuck it up_. But she doesn't and she can't say any of those things. It's not who she is. It's not even who she was.

So, all he gets is- _Yeah. You?_

 _Yeah._

And that's the whole conversation. It hurts to breathe and she can't sleep.

* * *

Sometimes Toby wonders why he's never left Rosewood when everyone around him has moved on. He always remembers.

October marks the tenth anniversary of his mother's death and he's twenty-four and a lifetime has passed since he's lost her, but it still hurts as much as it did the moment he found out. And this is really why he can't let this town go. He doesn't speak to his father anymore, his friends have long since left him behind and his career in law enforcement has fizzled into a thing of the past. But his mother's final resting place will always and forever be right here and even though she'd left him, he doesn't have the heart to leave her. He goes back to carpentry, his one true passion and something he's sure his mother would be proud of, and begins construction on a place he could finally call his own. And on the morning of the anniversary of her death, Toby dresses as nicely as he can and visits the mausoleum with a bouquet of her favorite flowers.

He's more of a mess than he'd care to admit. Just that familiar smell brings tears to his eyes and by the time he's reached her grave, the tears are flowing freely. Spencer had told him brokenly, years ago, about the true nature of his mother's death, and though it had finally brought him closure, it hadn't made losing her or her striking absence any easier. He allows himself a moment to grieve, runs his hand over the smooth marble, and then places the flowers right by her engraved name. And that's when he sees it- a beautifully ornate bouquet of hydrangeas, violet and lily white, with a small condolence card sticking up from the center. Assuming it's from his father, Toby wipes at his eyes and reaches for it, plucking it from the fragrant floral arrangement and nearly dying at the message.

 _T- Thinking of you today. My deepest condolences. – S_

This is what breaks him. Sobs emanate from deep within him and echo across the marble, wall to wall.

* * *

"Okay, I _know_ you're disappointed," Hanna says. "But it's going to be way less pathetic than cold ramen in our apartment."

"I don't like being back here," Spencer shakes her head, a chill running up her spine. "It gives me the creeps."

"It's almost Christmas Eve," Hanna points out. "And we should be with family. And since mine is in Bermuda, we might as well go to yours. _And_ since we're broke as fuck, I don't think we can pass up a free meal."

There's nothing Spencer hates more than when Hanna's right. "Fine. Let's get the wine my mother requested and get the hell out of here. If we run into _anyone_ we know, I swear to God, I'll-"

"You know what's strange?" Hanna cuts her off as they step into the grocery store. "We've been living in New York _so_ long that I forgot wine in grocery stores was a thing. Like, you can't just roll into Price Chopper and find cabernet sauvignon, you know?"

"Yeah, New York is weird," Spencer replies, glancing over her shoulder as though they're being watched. "But we need pinot grigio."

"Ugh, get this white zin away from me," Hanna shakes her head. "I can't even look at the bottle without it inciting my gag reflex."

"Why?" Spencer teases. "Because you drank a bottle and a half trying to get over your breakup with Caleb?"

"Because _you_ were so healthy with yours, right?" Hanna shoots back and Spencer's grin fades fast. "You ever think we made the biggest mistakes of our lives letting them go?"

Spencer gives her a look. "Do I ever think of anything else?"

And that's when she hears it; a voice she thought she'd forgotten, a voice she'd know anywhere. It must be coming to her in a dream and she pinches herself awake, but when they round the corner, wine bottles in hand, she must act quickly before they go careening to the floor. For there, comparing prices of sugar and flour, is Toby Cavanaugh, the man she had once loved so deeply, the man she had once sworn she'd spend the rest of her life with. She stops moving, stops blinking, stops breathing until he looks in her direction and when he does, all the defibrillators in the world couldn't shock her back to life in the way his eyes do. Hanna's by her side in a moment and her eyes are wide as saucers and if Spencer could tear her eyes away from Toby, she might notice Caleb's there, too. But she can't. So she doesn't.

Caleb's apparently the only one who can find words, so he says, "Wow. What, uh… What brings you two to town?"

"It's Christmas," Hanna says because her voice works, too, apparently. Spencer and Toby continue to stare at each other. "Well, almost."

"Just in town for the holidays?" Caleb wonders and Hanna nods and shrugs.

"For now. We'll see."

"Me too. Only time I could catch a break," Caleb says. "Toby lives here but…"

More silence ensues and Spencer's sure she'd suffocate in this unbearable tension if she stood here a second longer. Caleb then adds, "Did you hear about CeCe?"

"Dead, huh?" Hanna asks and Caleb nods in confirmation. "Can't say I'm broken up about it."

"No one was. Except for Ali."

"Ali's delusional."

"Always has been."

"Well," Hanna finally says after eyeing her ex, her best friend, and her best friend's ex. "We'd better go. We have to get wine to Mrs. Hastings and if we're late-"

"Got the milk, got the eggs," A new voice bursts into the silence and a peppy blonde appears, juggling a carton and a gallon in both her arms. "Let's go make some cookies, boys."

The stifling tension must hit her, then, for she glances at the two new faces and asks, "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. Who're your friends?"

Toby clears his throat and it's the first thing he's said and Spencer's internally dying. "This is Hanna and… and Spencer. They're, um… They're old friends."

Her heart deflates. _Old friends?_ And who was this? A _new_ friend? She certainly looked cozy enough, all smiles and laughter, leaning in closer every time Toby spoke and making eyes and resting her hand on his arm… She could go on for hours.

And go on she does.

"Spencer would you shut the fuck up already?" Hanna begs hours and many glasses of wine later. "He moved on and so did you. You're done. You're history. Adios, sayonara, don't let the door hit you on the way- _ouch!_ "

"We agreed to take a break," Spencer corrects her. "A breather. A time out."

"Yeah, okay," Hanna sighs. "And what 'break' lasts five years? Face it- you're done. Your time has passed. It's over."

Spencer frowns. "I don't want it to be over."

Hanna nods sympathetically. "I know the feeling."

Her childhood home is in shambles; Veronica had gotten it in the divorce and is now, promptly, selling it without warning, so Spencer and Hanna are sleeping on the pullout couch in the barn. Once upon a time, she'd dreamed of fixing this place up and making it the luxurious escape she'd always dreamed of, a home away from home. This dream, too, had followed many others down the drain and now, lying beside her snoring best friend in a freezing garage, she realizes she isn't quite as put together as she'd like to be. She wonders if this is normal. She wonders if you're supposed to have your shit together at twenty-three, because she _so_ doesn't and she's not even close. In fact, she's probably as far away from having her shit together as she could possibly get.

A little after one a.m. her phone buzzes with a new text. It's from Toby- _Hey. Good seeing you today. We should catch up_.

And her heart soars and her adrenaline races and it shouldn't. She remembers the giggly, cozy blonde and his description of their thoroughly deceased relationship; _old friend_. Still, she texts back- _Nice to see you too. Would love to catch up. Dinner?_

Almost immediately, he replies- _Dinner sounds great. Buccoli's for old time's sake?_

For some reason, she feels like crying. _Sounds perfect. Can't wait_.

She crawls into bed smiling, despite the mess this will probably be. Sleepily, Hanna asks, "What?"

Spencer replies, "It's not over yet."

* * *

He's nervous as hell.

This is a girl he hasn't been nervous in front of in six or seven years, and he's got a knot the size of a bowling ball in the pit of his stomach and he's terrified and he's nervous as hell. He doesn't know what to expect from this dinner; half of him expects her to yell at him, because civil, clean breakups are not their style, and he can't imagine anything else. Except, with the other half of him that imagines her sitting before him tonight and spewing out details of how perfect her life is without him, how easily she'd found herself once she let go of the burden their relationship was to her, and who she became now that she was nothing but a memory to him. It takes him all day to convince himself to be okay with whatever comes out of Spencer's mouth; years later and all he wants, still, is for her to be happy. And if she is, then he is, even if it's not with him.

The whole thing is mostly a blur. It's the little things that really stick out to him. Her hair's different; a bit curlier, a bit shorter and she's got bangs ("It was a spur of the moment thing," She says when he comments on them. "I mostly regret it." He tells her she shouldn't). It slips out that she'd graduated summa cum laude and had gone on to get her master's, but post-graduation, she's now kind of stuck in an internship she hates for a job she doesn't want ("I'm super qualified, but the pay's low and I'm mostly just a coffee courier," She frowns. "Sometimes I get to type stuff." He tells her she should quit; she purses her lips but doesn't disagree). They're civil and talking and it isn't weird, except that it totally is, given they dated for years and ended a mess. He wants to ask a million questions but he's stuck staring at her, merely staring, because this is a Spencer he doesn't know, a Spencer he hasn't known for five years, and she could very likely be a stranger to him forever.

When she asks what he's been doing, he makes the mistake of mentioning the house and Spencer nearly falls out of her chair. "A house? You built a house?"

"I mean," Toby shrugs and since he still hasn't quite grasped the greatness of this achievement, it sounds even stranger coming from her mouth. "Yeah, kind of. It isn't completely done and I never thought it would even leave the blueprint stage but…"

"But you built a house?" Spencer repeats, her glass of wine halfway to her lips. It never reaches its destination.

He nods softly. "It was always something I wanted to try."

Spencer's silent a while, regarding him in awe and curiosity before asking, "Can I see it?"

His heart pounds. "Really?"

"Of course," She nods. "You know I've always been a fan of your handiwork."

Toby's stomach is performing somersaults and his meal's forgotten instantly; he's not sure he could take another bite. "Now?"

"Sure," Spencer agrees. "Unless you wanted dessert?"

"No," Toby shakes his head. "That's alright. Let's go."

The check comes and she insists she pay her half. He vehemently denies. They argue over empty plates for a solid ten minutes and it feels like old times. In the end, he wins, and she begins to list the ways she'll pay him back, and he thinks of all the years they were together and how dates were almost a foreign concept to them, right up until they broke up.

The irony of the evening is not lost on him.

* * *

She's expecting concrete and foundation and four walls. This isn't what she sees.

Toby offers to drive and she climbs into his truck- and it's _his_ truck and not _their_ truck and something about this makes an old part of her heart ache, somewhere- and they drive and drive. They leave Rosewood and this makes her smile because when she'd learned Toby had stayed put in the town that ran his name through the mud, she'd been frustrated and confused and infuriated, but knowing he'd built a sanctuary elsewhere had righted this in her mind instantly. It's not too far away, but they begin ascending a gravelly road, twigs snapping and popping under his tires, and they climb up and up and the trees grow taller and fuller. Suddenly, they come to a clearing and there's a beautifully ornate cabin, chimney and porch swing and great French doors, awaiting her and for a moment she wonders if she's spotted this in an old movie or an outdoorsy catalogue, because there isn't a way anyone could have crafted this by hand.

She hops out of the truck and the air is thinner and colder up here and the gaps in her pea coat allow the chilly winter air to nip at her insides. She shivers and gazes up at the cabin in complete awe. "You built this? You _built_ this?"

He chuckles a bit, kicks at the ground. "Yeah. I wanted something not too far, but far enough."

Somehow, this makes perfect sense. She stares wide eyed, still admiring the beautiful craftsmanship, when he says, "Want to see something else?"

Nodding, she follows him to the edge of the property line where he steps around some pine trees and comes to a small cliff face. Below, about twenty or thirty feet, is Rosewood, the town of their childhood and the town of their nightmares, going on around them. And she wonders if he realizes how much this resembles their old lookout point, the one they'd escape to whenever things were just too difficult to handle, and when she glances at his face, she knows he does. She'd feared for years and years that reconnecting with Toby, should she ever be lucky enough for that to happen, they wouldn't be on the same wavelength, wouldn't be on the same page, wouldn't be as in tune with each other as they always have been, but this is proof enough that her fears had been unfounded. He glances at her and she sees winter and solace in his clear blue eyes and knows they're still delightfully different and wonderfully the same.

"It's not so bad from up here," Spencer says and he smiles at her words. "Just looks like a town."

Toby nods and it's like they're sixteen all over again. "That's all it is."

* * *

"This is _so_ impressive."

She's been saying it nonstop since they came inside and it's inflating Toby's very nonexistent ego and he doesn't have the words for how grateful he is. The cabin is mostly unfinished; it needs furnishing and electricity and someone to call it home, but it's livable for now and it's been the project he's most proud of. He'd gathered blankets and built a fire, the two of them sitting on pillows on the floor, and now the sun is ducking between the clouds and tiny snowflakes have begun to swirl around in the mountain air. Spencer's glancing all around the room for the thousandth time, taking it all in, and there's a pensive look in her eyes that he can't quite read. And if this were the more pressing matter, he'd chastise himself endlessly for this, because he used to be able to read her like a book and now… Well. It's all Greek to him.

He makes coffee next and pushes a mug into her hands, relishing at the fact that at least he remembers _something_ about her. After a few sips, she asks, "Are you still a cop?"

Toby shrugs. "Nah. Couldn't see much point to it. I stuck with it for a while, but… It kind of fizzled out."

She nods. "You never liked it."

"It wasn't so bad."

"You only did it because of me."

"I did it _for_ you," Toby corrects her. "There's a difference."

She glances down at the steaming liquid before then asking, "So what are you going to do with the house when it's done?"

Toby lets out a breath because, honestly, he hasn't really thought about it. "I don't know. Sell it, I guess."

"Sell it?" Spencer exclaims. "Sell it to who? And after all the hard work you put into it? I would've expected you to… I don't know. Move in, settle down, raise your family in it."

He smirks. "I'm nowhere near starting a family."

Spencer's quiet a minute before imploring, "Well… What does your girlfriend think about that?"

Toby pulls a face. "What girlfriend?"

"Don't be coy with me," Spencer rolls her eyes. "Yesterday in the grocery store? The blonde? You don't have to pretend you're single just because it's me. I'm not that pathetic."

"I'm not pretending anything," Toby shakes his head. "She's not my girlfriend."

Spencer notes, "She looked like she was especially affectionate with you."

Toby sighs. "She's a mutual friend I met through Caleb. We went out a couple of times, but we're not together."

And something happens, then, that lets Toby know this is going to be no ordinary night. He watches the cogs in Spencer's brain turn over and over, watches her process this information, and watches as a familiar look takes over her beautiful face. It's the same one he'd seen five years prior when they'd ended things in her dormitory. It's a look of grief and anger and confusion and utter sadness that he'd never wanted to see again, but alas, here it is. And he's not sure if it's because they're here now, conversing like nothing ever happened, or if it's because the mere idea of him with another girl had driven her crazy, or perhaps it's something else entirely. Perhaps he'd never known the real Spencer Hastings as well as he thought he had; perhaps he still doesn't. So he asks her, flat out asks her, what's wrong and she shakes her head and drinks more coffee and remains silent for a few moments until the ticking time bomb hits zero and the two of them implode.

Ready, set, detonate.

"You know what, Toby?" Spencer exclaims suddenly and her voice is higher than it has been and she slams the mug down on the floor beside her and coffee spills out the side. "I've been a _fucking_ _mess_ since we broke up, but I'm so glad it was so easy for you to move on."

He stares at her for a moment, completely bewildered, and then he realizes he'd been wrong. Perhaps he's known the real Spencer Hastings all along. "Easy for me to move on? Are you absolutely joking?"

"You can pretend she's a mutual friend of Caleb's all you want," Spencer replies. "I don't _care_ that you're dating someone. I just care that you're _dating_."

"Are you actually jealous of our friend when we're not even together?" Toby asks her. "Where is this even coming from?"

"Yes, I'm fucking jealous!" Spencer explodes. "I'm jealous that you were able to walk away from me unscathed. I'm jealous that you were able to pick up the pieces of the mess we left behind and make sense of it. I'm jealous that you were spared the sleepless nights and puffy eyes and empty tissue boxes. I'm jealous that you could just move on with anyone you wanted when I couldn't even look at another guy. I'm jealous that you were okay when I wanted that _so badly_ and I just couldn't be. And I'm still not, Toby. I'm not okay."

He shakes his head, almost unable to process what she's said. "Well those are all _terrible_ reasons to be jealous, Spencer. Not a single thing you've said was true."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"There has not been a single day since we broke up that I haven't thought about you," Toby confesses. "I never thought our break up would last this long. I thought we'd take a minute, breathe, figure out what was going on and who we were and then regroup and get back together. And every minute away from you _killed_ me. And then I realized that if you weren't reaching out, if you _had_ figured out who you were like you wanted so desperately to, then you realized that you no longer had a place for me in your life. And it was okay; I accepted it but… But that doesn't mean I was _okay_. I was the exact opposite of okay. I used to wake up in the middle of the night expecting you to be in some sort of trauma… Our anniversary… God. I could barely make it through."

"The good times and the bad," Spencer says a moment later. "I couldn't tell you about them; about _any_ of them. I used to reach for my phone whenever something funny would happen or whenever I'd get stressed and I'd go to text you… And then I'd remember. And I'd be a mess. I mean there were days I could barely stop crying and… Why did we let it get like this?"

"We were busy," Toby replies. "We didn't stop and make the time for each other and we fell apart."

"That's no excuse," Spencer shakes her head. "We never let that happen before."

"I don't know," He sighs. "I really don't know."

She's quiet and there are tears in her voice but none on her face. "I missed you."

"God, Spencer, I missed you so much," He professes. "You can be jealous all you want but it's useless, because there's nothing and no one to be jealous of. I haven't moved on. I _couldn't_ move on. And I probably never will because…"

"Don't do this to me," Spencer insists and she's so hesitant and he doesn't know why. "Don't say it if you don't mean it. Please. I can't… I can't-"

"Because I love you," Toby says and those tears swimming in her eyes finally spill down her cheeks. "I'm in love with you. I always have been; I always will be. And nothing and no one could ever change that."

She reaches forward and pulls his mouth to hers and it's their first kiss in years and years and certainly won't be the last. She's trembling and he wraps his arms fully around her in support, only to realize he's shaking, too. It's been too long, far too long, without her and his memory may forget a few things here and there, but his body remembers; every nerve awakens with the series of searing kisses they share and it feels frighteningly similar and enchantingly new, all the same. This is the girl he's meant to be with; this is the moment he'd endured those long, empty nights for. Like the tireless journey of a winding boomerang or how the waves always meet the shore, Toby had known they would always come back to one another in the end. Though at times uncertain, here they are; lost and now found, broken and stitched back together.

They kiss like feverish teenagers, just now discovering their lover's bodies. They kiss like starving animals, only nourished by each other's love. They kiss like drowning castaways stranded in the middle of a vast sea, the only thing to save them a stolen breath from the other's lungs. Clothing is pushed over heads and down legs and the bare floor is cold and the fire crackles beside them and snow is falling outside, but easily, they stay warm. The friction between them increases and it's full of years and years of anger, frustration, confusion, sadness, grief, longing and above all, love, all ensnared in a sweaty mess of tangled limbs. They kiss and make love and kiss again and make love again and it's a cycle they'd never like to escape. At one point he looks at her and she looks so incredibly happy and yet so incredibly sad. A simple look from his eyes to hers is all it takes to prod a confession from her mouth.

"I missed you so much," Spencer finally cries and his heart physically aches. "Think about all the time we lost. Think about how we could have been doing this all along."

He does. It's all he's been thinking about for five years straight. But he doesn't tell her that. Instead, he gathers her in his lap, pulls a quilt around their bare, entwined bodies, and says, "Think about all the time we have. Think about how we could do this forever and ever."

So she does. He watches. And then a smile paints her lips and she tells him, "I love you."

And he feels like flying.

* * *

She shivers so hard it shakes her awake.

The quilt that had been covering them the night prior is bundled in a heap by Toby's feet, the fire having long extinguished. She's curled up on the floor, still entirely naked, her cheek pressed against the cold hard ground, her knees at her chest. There are goose bumps on her goose bumps and when she lifts her head, she notes it's because Mother Nature had blanketed Pennsylvania with a thick coat of fluffy white snow and here she was sleeping on the floor. Sitting up, her spine cracks and her neck aches and her legs are sore; she's never had so much sex in all her life and she flushes crimson at the memory. At least her face is warm. Reaching for the quilt, she notices she and Toby are still holding hands and her heart is full and sure, no one knows, but no one must, at least not at the moment. She tries to put a finger on what exactly it is that she's feeling and she realizes, a bit embarrassingly, that it's _happiness_. Pure, unadulterated joy.

And she's ready to feel this way for the rest of her life.

She crawls directly on top of Toby and pulls the quilt down around them. Unconsciously, his arms snake around her and suddenly, she's warm again; a strange combination of body heat and old blankets and love… but mostly love. And she knows relationships are never easy, least of all theirs, and she knows they'll argue again and again and they still have many, many things to consider. She knows they have a long talk ahead of them and logistics to map out and people to tell. But right here, right now, she doesn't care about any of that. That's in a future outside the realm of snowy floor snuggles and she can't be bothered, right now. He shifts a bit and she knows he's awake the moment he presses a sleepy kiss to the top of her head. Time is relative and they could stay here all day for all Spencer cares. Nothing could be more important.

Groggily, he asks, "You okay?"

"Never better," Spencer tells him truthfully and feels him smile against her skin. "Hey, Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I have an idea for what you can do with this house," Spencer proposes. "Once you're finished, I mean."

"Hmm," Toby thinks. "Does it involve the two of us, living out our days, and newborns with six-packs?"

"You read my mind," Spencer grins. "Now how quickly do you think you can complete it?"

"Spencer," Toby replies. "For you, I won't sleep until it's done."

… _and we can learn to love again._


End file.
